


Shedding

by lucifers_left_earlobe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:14:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifers_left_earlobe/pseuds/lucifers_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request for Castiel losing his feathers and his grace. Based off of late season 7.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shedding

It’s been fifteen days since Castiel started shedding his feathers.

At first it hadn’t been as big of a deal; he’d only lost three last Monday, which, though strange, was not too worrisome. Throughout the week, however, it had progressed from a couple a day, to whole trails following him wherever he went. Castiel had tried to talk to Meg about it, but she said she couldn’t see anything and dismissed it on his ‘goin’ Nicholson’.

Castiel is fully aware of the fragile state of his sanity, or even  _if_ he can be classified as having a sane state. But this is something he knows is happening; little pieces of him are being left throughout the mental hospital, littering the halls with his formerly glorious essence.

He wishes he could talk to Dean. He wishes he could even  _see_  Dean, but he knows he has to stay away from the Winchesters, especially after what he’s done. Despite this fact, however, he craves for his righteous man… his presence, that is.

So he relies on his wits, whatever is left of them, as he loses his feathers, gradually, then all at once. His once illustrious wings are dimmed and shredded by Sam’s accumulated insanity, accompanied by Castiel’s own. He has less energy now; it’s probably a side effect of his diminishing grace.

And it goes on for over two weeks. He leaves a bloody trail of himself within the confines of the hospital, only to be seen by him. It certainly serves as a nice punishment for what he has done to Heaven, Purgatory, and Earth, but it still disturbs and scares him, nonetheless.

Meg came into his room earlier to tell him that his boyfriends are here to see him, whatever that meant. He simply nods in reply that they can see him, despite not recalling in engaging in any polygamous interspecies relations. When Dean and Sam walk in, however, he understands.

Dean’s smile alone was enough to make the remains of his grace stir within him, ebbing with temporary energy at the joy of seeing his friends. Castiel is glad to see Sam, too, of course. Which prompts him to do something extremely surprising and out of character for him; he winds his arms around the big man in an embrace before turning his attention to Dean.

“How’s the head, Cas?”

“It’s, uh, it’s been better.”

Dean steps close to him, like he does, and he can smell the old leather jacket, the nice scent of Dean himself. Really, he’s just ecstatic that he can still see the man’s beautiful soul. It whirs and spins within his best friend, expanding and glowing in time to Castiel’s celestial essence. He desperately wants to close those few inches separating the two of them; he wants to reach out to the man he’d rescued in Hell all that time ago.

“At least you’re still standing, buddy.” Dean cuffs a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and lets it linger, squeezing just before he pulls away.

“Somewhat,” Castiel replies, his tone grim in even his own ears. Dean pulls away, his eyebrows knitting together in a curious frown. Sam’s attention is peaked as well, it seems, when he tilts his head at Castiel’s admission.

“What do you mean ‘somewhat’?”

“I mean precisely so. My vessel is perfectly fine; my true form, however, is not.”

“What, has your mojo gone AWOL?” Dean asks, looking more worried than he has since, well, since Sam was in Castiel’s position.

“It hasn’t yet, no. I seem to be… shedding,” Castiel mutters, wrinkling his nose at the awful metaphor. Angels do not shed; they remain constant for all of eternity. Unless, of course, said angel has mutated or fallen, both of which Castiel has done.

“Shedding,” Dean repeats in disbelief.

“Yeah, my grace is receding.”

Dean looks like he’s about to add something, but his mouth remains sealed shut. It is Sam who continues the conversation, giving Castiel a surprising offer.

“How about you come back on the road with us for a while?” he asks, his voice hopeful and assured at the same time. Castiel swivels to him in utter shock. How could Sam, smart and tactful Sam, believe that Castiel is up for going on hunts and utilizing his unfortunately depleted grace?

Apparently, Dean has similar thoughts. “Sam,” Dean warns. “He doesn’t have the mojo for hunts. Look at him-” Dean gestures toward Castiel, suddenly angry. “Look what we-I caused, Sammy. I’m not gonna be responsible for his death again.”

That… was a shock. Dean isn’t responsible for his current status and he’s hardly responsible for anytime Castiel had died. He is well aware that Dean carries around a burdening amount of guilt on his shoulders, but Castiel never knew to what extent of all events Dean blamed himself for.

“Dean, you didn’t cause anything.”

“Don’t you start with me, Cas.”

Castiel is about to reply when Dean places a hand on his shoulder. He looks up to the man and sees the nearly undetectable redness to the rims of his eyes. Oh. Dean  _cares_.

“It was my fault, Dean. All of it. So I’ll help you with anything you may need, whether or not it kills me.”

Dean looks like he’s about to protest concurrently, but his shoulders slump with sad resignation and he turns away from Castiel. Sam glances between the two of them, a strange smile splayed over his lips.

“So, when are you ready to go?”

They depart at midnight. Dean ordered Meg to cover for Castiel, informing her to alert the head doctor that it was a patient escape or something. It resulted in Meg tossing her coffee in his face and cackling maniacally, like a witch in one of those cartoons Dean had shown Castiel so long ago.

Regardless, with some persuasion from Sam, Meg agrees to cover for them.

“You owe me big, Deano,” she muttered scathingly as they left her behind in the empty hallway. Castiel could see her demonic essence swirling within her, despite her claiming to be fine with the whole thing. If he didn’t know any better, and he doesn’t, Castiel would say that she appeared jealous of the boys.

Sam hovers behind Castiel as he walks out into the night, holding his demon blade concealed within his pocket. Castiel thinks it’s all unnecessary; even in his lesser state, he is still many times more powerful than both of the boys combined.

The extra protection, though unnecessary, does make Castiel feel more at home, however. He’s missed the boys, and they’ve missed him. It’s a heartfelt reunion, at least on his side of things.

Dean meets them in front of the parking lot, his roaring Impala bringing back all sorts of memories. Memories of the warm sun hitting his legs, memories of sobriety as he tried to drink himself stupid with Dean, who grew friskier and friskier with each passing spirit. It brought back memories of a warm hand brushing his, of a subtle smile from his righteous man when he didn’t understand something, of being called ‘family’ for the first time.

It brought back memories of love.

Sam lets Castiel have the front seat, muttering he deserves it after all this time in the nuthouse. Castiel doesn’t see the gesture as founded, but he takes it nonetheless. The slippery, leather bench seat of the Impala is still just as familiar to him, though he only recalls it as Emanuel.

“Back to business, eh Cas?”

Dean grins at him, and though it doesn’t reach his eyes, it makes Castiel happy for some ungraspable reason. He returns the smile in earnest, his eyes crinkling with the effort and turns away to watch the empty street pass.

And he stays; it started out with making it to the outer limits of the city, where they hunted a coven of vampires. Then they branched out, crossing three states in a night. That was the hunt that Dean let Castiel take the wheel of ‘Baby’, carefully informing him on what to and what not to do behind the wheel.

His hands remain on Castiel’s as he floors it down the straight expanse of highway. They’d left Sam behind about a quarter of a mile, mostly due to his complaining about being in a car that had a very strong chance of crashing and ‘I may be a Winchester, but I don’t want to die quite yet, Dean.’

But, contrary to Castiel’s expectations, instead of tensing up and becoming more withdrawn with Sam’s absence Dean grows oddly… flirtatious.

Don’t misunderstand, Castiel still doesn’t understand a ‘come on’ from friendly curiosity. But, he does know Dean and he’s seen Dean flirt with women at taverns on the occasions when he dragged Castiel along. He’d been disappointed at Castiel’s lack of use of his ‘good looks’, and grew more irritated when Castiel had said that it was his vessel that looked good; he was a wavelength of pure energy.

But, his belief that Dean is flirting is supported by Dean’s lingering hands. Lingering on his fingers as he clenches at the wheel, loosening them a bit and threading his fingers within Castiels’. Lingering on his thighs when he lets his hands fall from Castiel’s, pleased by his success at adapting to the Impala so quickly.

Lingering eyes when he grins and tells Castiel to pull over.

Castiel had ‘made out’ with Meg once. It hadn’t been a particularly enthralling experience; there were a lot of invasive tongue movements and it was too moist for his own tastes. However, when Dean’s hands cup his face and drag him flush against Dean’s face, he gasps in surprise. And he’s  **not** surprised too often.

Dean’s lips have a nice texture to them; they are smooth and rough simultaneously, as though they are reflective of Dean himself. He doesn’t use as much tongue as Meg had. The only time any real wetness occurred was when he let his tongue trail along Castiel’s lower lip, which in Castiel’s opinion, was perfectly fine.

But then he does things that Castiel isn’t familiar with. One of his hands slides from Castiel’s cheek to the back of his neck, drawing them closer and closer until their chins knock together.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbles against the corner of his mouth, hands sliding to more places on Castiel’s body. He moves his lips away from Castiel’s and just  _moves_.

His hands leave warm trails as they droop down his chest, heading further and further down until they land on Castiel’s groin. It’s a strange feeling, having someone touch him in a place that’s considered intimate among humans, but it’s… pleasurable.

His vessel’s body reacts by shoving his hips into Dean’s touch, which results in a curious glance from Dean.

“Cas, uh, do you know about…?” Dean trails off, his voice fading as a deep scarlet colors his cheeks. Castiel isn’t brash enough to misunderstand this question; he knows of sex. He knows its conventions, how it operates. Castiel is sure that he could simulate the practice, but he’d never actually given much thought to how it would affect him.

“I know what sex is, Dean.”

Dean’s blush deepens. He pulls away from Castiel’s body and rubs a hand behind his neck, nervously looking anywhere but at Castiel. He scoots away after a moment and glances down at his own crotch, which appears to have increased in size since Castiel had last seen it (it was a mere human curiosity).

“I, uh, we shouldn’t… Sam’s probably waiting on us.”

So, Castiel doesn’t get to experience sex. He is surprisingly upset about it, but he doesn’t voice the displeasure to Dean, knowing full well that it’s not morally correct to say such things. Regardless, they drive back and pick up Sam, who is waiting where they left him, but he has taken out some gaming device with small animated animals crying strange sounds as a moderator chooses them.

And so they hunt. They drive. They laugh. They live. Each passing day, Castiel notices his grace growing stronger, more pure again. Yet, he still feels more human than he ever has before. Dean and Castiel share more of those ‘make outs’ as Dean calls them with a strange expression painted over his features. Castiel decides to tell the boys about his recovering grace.

“I think it stems from proximity.”

“Proximity?” Dean repeats, his voice curious.

“Yeah, proximity to people angels love. That’s why I was strong in Heaven; all angels love their brothers and sisters.”

The men have gone quiet. Sam is staring at Dean, his mouth slightly agape, with an almost ‘I told you so’ set to his eyes. But Dean’s eyes aren’t on Sam; no, they are all for Castiel.

“You love… us?” Dean asks, his voice shaking a little at the effort of his words. Castiel nods in response; he doesn’t understand why this concept is so difficult for Winchesters to grab. It’s a mere fact.

“Well, uh, Cas-” Dean starts, but he’s quickly cut off by Sam.

“I fucking called it, Dean!” he exclaims, pumping a fist in the air. Castiel glances back to Dean and sees a brilliant fuchsia making its home on his face. He bores holes into his hands as he examines them with some unknown determination. Oh, right, Sam coached him on this; it’s embarrassment.

Sam continues his unfinished thought, turning back to Castiel. “We love you too, Castiel. Especially my bro- Ouch, you jerk!” Dean punches Sam in the shoulder and turns to Castiel with a very feigned smile on his face.

“Shut it, Sam. Don’t listen to this idiot, Cas. He doesn’t know anything.”

But Castiel did listen, and he can’t prevent the grin from growing unchecked onto his face. Yeah, he thinks he understood perfectly this time.

Very carefully and very slowly, he leans towards Dean until their noses brush, their breath mingles in the air. Timidly, he presses his lips against Dean’s gasping ones in a chaste kiss. After a split second, he slides his face flush against Dean’s cheek and moves his lips to Dean’s ear.

“I love you too, Dean.”

And for once, Castiel is the one to make the first move. And as per usual, Dean returns it in earnest.


End file.
